


Welcome To My World Of Fun

by Mercy_Rhyne



Series: Welcome To My World Of Fun [1]
Category: Sanders Sides
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Blood, Dark Roman, Fantasy AU kinda, Gore, Lots of Angst, Pain, Panic, Thoughts of Suicide, Torture, description of a victim of torture, possible heartbreak, sanders sides au, that's gore but specific gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-08 06:45:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12249099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercy_Rhyne/pseuds/Mercy_Rhyne
Summary: Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there was a king. The king wasn't particularly loved by his people and that is why a rebellious organisation arose. However, the king found out and he would do anything in his power to track down this organisation and destroy them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: MAJOR warnings for blood, gore and torture. There’s also angst, description of a victim of torture, anxiety/panic, slight suicidal thoughts. And lots of angst and gore. Can be really explicit at times.
> 
> Also a big thanks to my friend Morgan (Ilovemyspoopydad on Tumblr) for helping me out with this idea, giving me some advice, and screaming at me

Roman looked at the man in front of him. Small, fragile and broken. There was nothing left of the ball of happiness he used to be. He was bruised and looked more like a skeleton than a person. Like he hadn’t eaten in days. His trembling arms shielded his face, as if that way, he would be protected from the king before him. Blood trickled down his maimed hands onto his shoulders and his smudged and ripped shirt. His shoulders were shaking and it wasn’t certain if that was the anxiety or if he was crying behind his arms. The king took a few slow steps forwards, towering over the shaking man in front of him, who crawled back until his back was pressed against the cold stone wall. Roman crouched in front of the male.   
“Look at me,” he muttered softly with a smooth and velvet voice. The man – Patton – flinched at the sound of the king’s voice and attempted to phase through the wall behind him, but he didn’t look up.   
“Look at me.” Roman repeated with more urgency in his voice. Slowly, the male obeyed and lifted his head. Roman’s eyes met his - they were bloodshot; he had definitely been crying. And the king couldn’t blame him; the past few months hadn’t been easy on him. The light that had once shone in his dark brown eyes was long gone. They were a corpse’s eyes now.  
“Do you have anything to say now?” Roman asked, his voice still sickly sweet as his lips curled up to form a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Patton could only look into the king’s eyes for a few moments. When he looked down, he shook his head and he seemed to brace himself for something, _anything_ to happen to him. Roman grabbed Patton’s chin - anything but carefully - and turned the man’s head so he was facing him again. The king’s smile had made way for an irate scowl that was even more horrifying than his smirk had been.   
“Are you sure about that?” The sweet tone was replaced by a sound that would best be described as a low growl. Patton nodded and shied away from the royal in front of him. Roman got up and reached for the sword that he carried with him. He slowly unsheathed it, making sure it reflected the light coming from the one candle in the small room. The small flame made the shiny weapon look so harmless, yet so much sharper and so much more dangerous. The rubies and the gold in the hilt looked so much brighter and so much richer in the light.   
Roman lowered his sword and pointed it at Patton, who was once again trying to become one with the wall.   
“N-n-n-no,” Patton stuttered as he closed his eyes, hoping that he would be protected from the weapon in front of him. “I’ve got nothing… please.” Roman softly stroked Patton’s cheek with his sword. As soon as he felt the cold metal against his skin, Patton flinched and moved his head away.   
“Please,” he pleaded, “I… I told you everything I know. Please…” Roman sighed and placed the tip of his sword underneath Patton’s chin.   
“You didn’t, though, did you, Patton?” the king asked softly as he pressed the weapon against the man’s throat. “There’s more.”  
“No, no, I promise…” Patton answered, his voice breaking. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at the royal in front of him, only to close his eyes again as soon as they were met with the weapon in front of him. His hands wrapped themselves around his head and he let out a soft whimper.   
“Patton, look at me,” Roman ordered coldly. Patton slowly opened one of his eyes and eyed the king. The first thing he noticed, were his eyes. There wasn’t any emotion in those eyes, they were filled with malice and contempt. There was nothing else in those dark orbs. It was terrifying, honestly. The rest of the king’s face was neutral, void of any form of emotion. Patton tried to crawl back any further, but with his back already pressed against the wall, there was nowhere he could go.   
“Are you sure there is nothing you want to tell me, Patton?” he asked softly. Patton nodded and turned his head away again.   
“I see how it is,” the king said, his voice barely more than a low and dangerous whisper. “I’ll be easy on you now, but I’ll come back later. See if you changed your mind.” With those words, Roman sheathed his weapon again. He turned around and grabbed the candlestick in his hand and opened the door. Patton could vaguely see how the king turned his head towards him and shot him one final glare before he left and closed the door behind him, leaving Patton behind in pure darkness. 

Roman made his way to the next cell, not far from Patton’s. The king softly walked through the narrow corridors, his footsteps quick and silent. When he halted in front of the heavy door, he could hear the same panicked breaths he had heard the days, the _weeks_ before. It wasn’t anything new anymore. With the candlestick held high, Roman opened the door and stepped inside the room.  
“Knock, knock!” Roman said in a singsong voice as he closed the door and put the candlestick down on the old table  in the corner of the room. He smiled at the young man in front of him, who looked back at him with large, panicked eyes. His breathing was fast and irregular. The boy opened his mouth, as if he was trying to speak, but he couldn’t utter any word in between his short breaths.   
“No need to panic, Virgil, it’s just me!” Roman smiled as he stepped closer, his hands behind his back. “I just want to ask you a few questions.”  
“Please, I-I… I don’t kn-know anything a-about it…” Virgil stuttered anxiously, his shaking hands fumbling with the torn hem of his shirt. It was a habit he had developed in the past few weeks. It never relieved his anxiety, but it gave him something to concentrate on and it kept his mind occupied for a bit.   
“So you’ve said for the past few weeks,” Roman stated in a low voice, “but I’ve heard otherwise. I know there’s something you know that I don’t and I will give you one chance to tell me right now.”  
Virgil scoffed bitterly, but didn’t look up as he managed to say:   
“That’s wh-what you say e-every time.” His words were laced with a bitterness Virgil hadn’t heard in a while. Immediately after having uttered those words, he made himself as small as possible, having realized the mistake he had made. Roman chuckled at this comment, but it wasn’t an amused chuckle. No, quite contrarily. It was an icy laugh that cut right through Virgil and made him freeze in fear. It was a laugh that showed only annoyance, anger and malice. Even as he looked down at his hands, Virgil could picture the enraged expression the king bore. He should have never said that. His heart started beating ten times as fast, as if it was trying to push Virgil away from the upcoming danger by the force of its own pounding. His breath got stuck in his throat as he awaited Roman’s response. He knew it wouldn’t be good. It was never good with him.   
He had been correct. Roman grabbed a wisp of Virgil’s hair and pulled his head up, so they were mere inches apart. He grabbed a dagger from his weapons belt and pushed it against the boy’s throat.   
“You might want to watch that tongue of yours,” he growled, dangerously low, “because it would be a shame if you lost it, wouldn’t it?”   
Virgil bit his lip until he tasted blood, forcing himself to look into the king’s cold eyes, in an attempt to feign defiance. At the same time, he tried his best to steady his rapid breathing and to calm his wildly beating heart. All those attempts failed.   
“Now, I’m going to give you one last chance to tell me everything you know about the rebellion.”   
“I don’t ha-have anything,” Virgil insisted with a trembling voice, “I to-told you.”   
“Wrong answer,” Roman smirked before he stabbed his dagger in Virgil’s leg. Virgil bit his lip even harder to not scream at the unbearable pain that shot through his body. His instincts told him to look down, to investigate the wound, to pull the dagger out of his leg and attack the king in front of him. But his head was still being held up by his torturer and he was too weak to attack. He didn’t stand a chance.   
“Come on, Virgil, I know you’ve got the information I need,” the king said, pulling Virgil’s head just a little closer. “You just need to tell me and this could all be over.”   
“I’d rather die,” Virgil muttered, finally having found the courage he had been looking for for ages.  In a matter of milliseconds, Roman’s hand moved from Virgil’s hair to his bruised throat and pushed his back against the wall.   
“We can take care of that,” he hissed as he pulled Virgil up, squeezing his throat just a little more. Virgil could feel all air leaving his body, but none could enter. His hands reached up, attempting to pull Roman’s hand away from his throat. He knew it was hopeless, but the lack of oxygen in his system made him panic. This was the only thing he could do. His nails scratched the king’s hand, leaving red marks on the pale skin. But then, Roman’s hand grabbed one of Virgil’s arms, tighter than any vice could. The other hand released Virgil’s throat, reached for the dagger that was still embedded in his leg and slowly pulled it out. The young man had to do everything in his power to stop himself from screaming.   
“You did it to yourself, Virgil,” Roman whispered with something that could only be described as perfectly feigned sorrow in his voice as he raised the dagger. Virgil’s eyes widened and he tried desperately to release his hand from the king’s vice-like grip. It was not surprising that he failed at any attempt.   
“Stop squirming,” Roman ordered as he pushed Virgil against the wall. The world seemed to go in slow-motion as Roman brought the dagger down. As the weapon cut through his flesh and shattered his bone. As the blood oozed out of his wound, as it left a pool of red liquid on the stone floor. Virgil’s mouth opened in a silent scream as his hand instinctively reached for his other arm. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he tried his best not to let his torturer see them. He didn’t want Roman to see him crying.   
Roman looked at the hand he was now holding and threw it across the small room. It ended up in the far corner, where it left red stains on the wall and the floor. Virgil felt his legs start shaking and the world around him seemed so start spinning as he looked at the wound, the place where his left hand used to be. He stumbled forwards and fell to his knees, in the red puddle on the ground. He managed to catch himself with his right hand, but immediately after he had fallen down, he could feel a shock of pain coming from his wrist. That couldn’t have been good. But he didn’t even care about that, he had no time to care about that  
Roman chuckled that icy laugh of his as he crouched down again. He grabbed Virgil’s jaw and turned the boy’s head towards his own. Virgil’s eyes showed the panic he felt, no matter how much he tried to suppress it. The few tears that rolled down his cheeks betrayed that he was in pain. The king smirked.  
“You did this to yourself,” he repeated,  “you know that. But, if you tell me everything you know about the rebellion, I might spare you the next time.”   
“I-I told you,” the young man answered with a tremble in his voice, “I- I don’t kno-know anything.”   
Roman pulled Virgil’s face closer to his and studied the boy’s expression. Virgil’s eyes would look at anything but the man – no, the _monster_ – in front of him. Roman dug his nails into Virgil’s skin ever so slightly and he saw the younger man flinch at the stinging sensation.   
“Very well,” Roman said, releasing Virgil and slowly standing up. “That’s all for now, but I’ll return later, don’t worry about it!” He hooked his foot behind Virgil’s arm and pulled it towards himself, causing the male to fall over into the body of blood that had formed on the floor. After delivering one swift kick to the fresh wound on Virgil’s thigh, he grabbed the candlestick and left Virgil alone in the dark.   
   
Using his hands and teeth, Virgil had managed to tear of some fabric from his shirt and clumsily wrapped it around his arm. It was darker than the night in his cell, so he couldn’t see what he was doing, but he hoped it was alright. He didn’t know how long he sat there. He didn’t know how much time he spent awake or in a dreamless, restless sleep. It could have been hours, it could have been days, it could have been minutes. Every moment felt like an eternity to him. Every waking moment felt like hell. If hell was freezing cold and pitch black, that is. Virgil wrapped his arms around himself in a futile attempt at keeping himself warm. He was done with this. He couldn’t take it anymore. He had been in that dark room for God knows how long and he couldn’t be there another minute. He had managed not to crack, but he started to think it would be wise to admit everything to the king. That way, he might be released from this hellhole. Sure, he would be killed, he knew that, but he would be released anyway. Anything was better than this. Even death. _Especially_ death. Anything would be better than to live through this another day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Again, MAJOR warnings for blood, torture and gore. Some pain, some sadness, slight panic/anxiety and a lot of angst

“I don’t understand it,” Roman sighed as he paced through the throne room, his hands folded behind his back. “I’ve broken him beyond repair, he won’t stop shaking and he can’t even look at me. But he still won’t tell me everything! I’ve broken his mind, but there’s something that keeps him from revealing the last pieces of information. There’s got to be something else I can do, right?”  
He stopped pacing and looked at Logan, his confidant and most important informant. Logan slightly adjusted his glasses, before saying:  
“Well, I have picked up on some things that might be useful…”  
That got Roman’s attention and he stepped closer to Logan, his eyes burning with eagerness.   
“What is it?”   
“We’ve captured that kid, Virgil, right?” Logan asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.   
“Yeah, we have. Why?”  
“I heard that they are close,” the informant answered, “and not just _close_. If what I heard is correct, Patton took care of Virgil when his parents died ten years ago. If that is right, that means that Virgil has spent most of his life with Patton and Patton has spent a significant amount of his with Virgil. Surely, that means that they have a deep emotional connection, so…”   
“I can use Virgil to get the information out of him!” Roman interrupted, a wicked grin appearing on his handsome face. “You, Logan, are a genius!”   
“So I’ve been told,” Logan replied with a smug smile, his hand reaching up to adjust his glasses again.  
“Have you gotten any other useful information?” Roman asked, quickly changing the subject.   
“Not yet,” his confidant answered, straightening his back ever so slightly. “But I believe it won’t be long before we get some new crucial information. And I will have to discuss this with the other informants, but I think we will be ready for a few busts soon.”   
“Perfect,” Roman gushed as he smiled, _actually_ smiled a joyful smile. “Well, we have a lot of work to do, Logan. Better get started!”

Immediately after that brief meeting, the two men parted ways. Logan had to meet up with several other informants, to share their information and their plans. They would tell each other everything they had heard from the rebels and see if there was anything important to note or keep in mind, anything they could use in their plans.    
At the same time, Roman prepared yet another interrogation. One that he believed _had_ to provide him with the results he wanted. One that would finally answer all the questions that he asked for months now. One that would finally allow him to progress and to continue his plans to destroy the rebellion once and for all.   
   
The door was pushed open with a loud crashing sound that made Patton crawl back to the furthest corner of the room. Roman stepped into the room, his hand entangled in someone’s short, brown hair. The guy was heavily resisting and trying to break free from the king’s grip. Patton felt his heart grow heavy as he recognised the person that the royal dragged behind him. It was someone he hadn’t seen in months. Someone he’d never want to see in this place.   
“Virgil?” Patton asked as Roman threw Virgil to the floor. Virgil fell on the ground, just managing to catch himself with his only hand before his face collided with the cold floor. Patton hurriedly pushed himself off the ground and made his way towards his younger friend, but he was cut short by a blow to his stomach. As Patton fell to his knees at the sudden impact, he heard the door slam shut. He looked up and saw two men in the darkness of the room. His gaze shifted to Roman. Patton didn’t know why those men were there, but it couldn’t have been good.   
“A little birdy told me you two have met,” Roman grinned as he turned back to Virgil, grabbing his dark hair once more. The young man never stopped resisting; for once he didn’t care about the royal. All he wanted, was to get to Patton. To hold him and to feel Patton’s arms around him again. He only wanted to smell his familiar scent again and to feel safe again. Roman rolled his eyes and unsheathed his sword.   
“Do you really want to do this again?” He asked as he placed his sword against Virgil’s throat. The king’s voice nearly sounded bored as he uttered those words. But still, it was enough to make Virgil freeze almost immediately.   
“That’s what I thought.” Roman said, turning his head to Patton again. “Now, that same birdy also told me you know more than you’ve told me, Patton. I’ll give you one chance to tell me now.”  
Patton’s eyes travelled from Roman to his anxious friend. He could see the fear in Virgil’s eyes, but there was something else there as well. Something that could maybe be described as determination. Virgil shook his head ever so slightly, telling his older friend not to reveal the secrets of the rebellion. Patton hesitated and looked at the king, who was staring back at him. The man quickly looked down again. He didn’t want to tell Roman what he knew but… he knew that the royal was capable of doing terrible things to Virgil, and he didn’t want that to happen either.   
“Pat…” Virgil muttered, capturing the man’s attention once more. Patton’s eyes met Virgil’s and the latter shook his head again. Patton tried to protest, but Virgil’s gaze shut him up.   
“No,” he said softly, doing as his friend silently told him to. “I won’t tell you.”   
“Very well,” Roman said, releasing Virgil from his grip and sheathing his sword again. “Your decision.” He turned around and nodded at the two bulky men in front of him. At this gesture, they both moved forwards. One made his way to Patton and held him down easily as he grabbed the smaller man’s arms. The other one grabbed Virgil and dragged him to the chair that was stood in the corner of the room. He chained his arms and legs to the chair and stood next to him. Virgil looked down, concentrating on the fabric of his pants as he tried not to let panic take control of his mind.   
Patton tried to wriggle free from the man’s grasp, but all his attempts were futile. He knew this from the beginning, but that didn’t stop him from trying.  
“Patton, I’m going to give you _one_ more chance to tell me everything you know.” Roman spoke softly, never taking his eyes off of Virgil, who raised his head again to look at Patton and sent his friend the same glare he had sent before.   
“There’s nothing to tell you,” Patton replied brokenly, looking at Virgil with remorse already present in his eyes. Virgil cracked a careful smile before looking at his lap again. His breath became unsteady again and his vision blurred just while thinking about what would happen to him. But anything was better than letting Roman find out about their plans and information. Anything.   
“If you’re so sure…” Roman smiled and held up one of his hands. The man standing next to Virgil quickly handed the king something that looked like… _pliers_.   
“This might sting a little,” the royal announced as he placed one of his hands on Virgil’s one hand. 

Shit, fuck, crap, damn, _fuck_. Virgil knew what was going to happen as soon as he felt the skin of Roman’s hand brush against his. As he felt the touch of cold metal against the skin of his thumb. As he felt the pliers press against his fingernail. As he-   
And there it was. A sensation like nothing he had ever felt before. His thumb seemed to be on fire as the nail was forcefully ripped away. Virgil bit his lip and let out a groan, trying his best not scream. He bent forwards as much as he could, doing anything to take his mind off the unbearable pain he felt. And he wasn’t sure, but Virgil could have sworn he heard Roman’s soft chuckle.   
He didn’t have any time to recover himself from the pain that consumed his mind, because Roman quickly moved on to his index finger and his other fingers. By the time Roman was done, Virgil could barely feel his hand over the insufferable pain. He had closed his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth. But he wouldn’t let Patton reveal their secrets. He looked up at his friend, who was trying anything in his power to struggle free from the man’s iron grip.   
“Don’t,” he whispered softly, lowering his eyes to the ground. He couldn’t look at Patton anymore. It hurt him too much to see the pain in his friend’s eyes. Patton had always been protective of Virgil and seeing him in this much pain hurt his heart more than anything. All he wanted was to get to his younger friend and hold him in his arms. He wanted to tell him it would be okay. He wanted everything to _be_ okay again.   
“Virgil…”   
“Don’t.” Virgil’s voice sounded stronger than it ever had. He wasn’t going to let the king find out about the rebellion’s plans. He’d do anything to stop that, even if it meant going through this hell.   
“Well, Patton, have you changed your mind yet?”   
Patton shifted his gaze from his friend to the king and hesitated. He had stopped resisting against the man’s grip and now he just sat there, defeated.  
“No,” he whispered, looking down at the ground. “I haven’t.”  
Roman nodded and handed the pliers to the man again. He slowly reached for one of his daggers and turned back to Virgil again.   
“We’ll see about that,” he said softly as he reached for Virgil’s hand again. “Just tell me when you have, okay?” He took Virgil’s thumb and brought his dagger closer. Roman turned his head to Patton, who looked at the weapon in distress. When he didn’t reply, the royal pressed the dagger down at the first phalanx. Patton whimpered along with Virgil and he desperately wanted to look away, but the man’s arms kept his head in place, forcing him to watch. 

Slowly but surely, Roman cut off every single phalanx until there were no more left. By the time he was done, Virgil had stopped trying to hold his head up high, he had stopped trying to resist, he barely even responded to the immense pain he experienced every time the dagger cut through his flesh and his bone. He had given up.  
With one last slash, the king separated Virgil’s fingerless hand from his wrist and dropped it next to him. Then, he finally pulled the dagger away from his victim’s arm.   
“What do you say, Patton?” Roman asked, straightening his back to look at the man again. “Do we continue with the feet?”   
Virgil raised his head just enough so he could lock eyes with Patton. The older male saw tears rolling down his friend’s cheeks as he slowly shook his head. He looked exhausted; he had given up on any hope. His eyes had lost every light that made them look so alive. That broke Patton’s heart. It broke his heart more than seeing his best friend in so much pain. He couldn’t take it anymore. Virgil didn’t deserve this. Patton focussed his eyes on the king and with a trembling voice, said:  
“Fine. I… I will tell you everything you need to know.” Roman smirked as he looked at the man. Virgil’s head shot up at these words.   
“No, Pat…” he started, his voice more vulnerable and weaker than it had ever been. “You don’t have to.”  
“I do, Verge,” Patton said, his voice breaking. “He had to find out some day. And I’d do anything to stop you getting hurt… any more.”  
“I’d rather get hurt than have him fi-” He was cut short by a quick blow to the stomach. Virgil bit his lip, but barely flinched.   
Roman sheathed his dagger and as one of the men freed Virgil from the chair, the king gestured for the other to let go of Patton. He immediately did as he was told and Patton fell to the ground as he was released from his capturers grip. He immediately scrambled to his feet and made his way to Virgil, determined to at least hold the other in his arms for one second. But before he could get to the boy, he was stopped by a hand grabbing his hair. Patton stared ahead of him, keeping his eyes focussed on Virgil, who was forced to stand on his two feet. It looked like he could fall any moment.   
“Please,” Patton whispered as he tried to move forwards again. “Please, let me go to him. Just for a few moments.” Roman wrapped his other arm around Patton’s waist, trying to stop his struggling. The man holding Virgil looked at Roman, awaiting his orders.

In those few moments, Virgil and Patton’s eyes met. Patton saw hurt, hopelessness and anxiety in those eyes that once used to be full of life. Virgil noticed pain, sadness and fear in the ones that used to be so happy.   
If only he could find the power to break free from the king’s grip. If he could, he would run straight for Virgil. He’d wrap him in his arms and whisper words of comfort. He’d sing the songs he used to sing for the boy when he couldn’t sleep. He saw Virgil as a little brother. In some ways, even as a son, even though they were only ten years apart. Patton would do anything to make everything right again. Anything to get Virgil away from here. _Anything_.   
“Please,” Patton muttered again as he tried once more to break loose. Virgil looked like he could faint any moment and seeing him this weak, brought out Patton’s protective side even more, if that were even possible.   
“Take him away,” Roman ordered as he looked at the man holding Virgil. The man nodded as he forced Virgil to follow him to the door.   
“No, no, please!” Patton tried, struggling against the king’s tight grip. Tears formed in his eyes and he used all his strength in his attempts of resistance. Virgil was too weak to protest against the man’s grip and he looked up at Patton, shooting him one last, encouraging smile. Patton smiled back, ceasing his struggles for just a few moments. Long enough for Roman to regain full control of the man and he threw him to the ground, drawing his sword and pointing it at the shaking man. Roman looked back at the man that had held Patton in place. He was there too.   
“Get out,” he ordered coldly, “we need to talk in private.” The man nodded and quickly got out of the cell. As soon as he had left, Roman turned his attention back to Patton and he crouched in front of him. He could see the male was trying his best not to cry. And he was failing.   
Roman cupped Patton’s cheek and turned his head so it was facing him.   
“Now,” he said with a sweet smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “I think there’s something you wanted to tell me, isn’t there?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: MAJOR warning for torture, anxiety attack, feeling of suffocating, hyperventilation, feeling of dying, mentions of dehydration and reference to starvation
> 
> Notes: This chapter.... dude. It was so hard to write this because... I just don’t want this to happen haha. But I have to do this for the sake of the story. I don’t know why I wrote this and please don’t ask me why. It’s more of a filler, just to progress the story, there isn’t a super important development just yet, but enjoy this :D

"I finally got it," Roman smiled as he saw Logan later that day. His white sleeves and hands were stained with red and brown spatters and even his nails had a slightly red tinge to them.  
"The information?"  
"No, I got the other thing I have been trying to get for months," the king replied. He walked over to his desk that was littered with notes, quills and ink. He quickly scribbled down everything he had heard, making sure not to smudge the ink with his left hand while he was writing. Logan looked over his shoulder, reading along with everything the king wrote down.  
"I must admit I was disappointed he didn't give any more names," Roman said as he finished his rushed writing. "But Patton did give us some useful information."  
"Do you think he told us everything he knew?"  
"I do," Roman replied, "his stories match with other information I have heard. They don't know a lot of names of other rebels and they are split up in many small factions. Contact between the other factions is minimal, so I do not have a lot of specifics on the factions, but I do have information about the time and location of meetings from some more factions." Roman handed Logan the paper and waited for the other man to completely read through all of his hastily made notes.  
"This is perfect," the informant stated monotonously, "none of this is information I have heard during the meetings, nor have I heard any of this from the other informants. But it is perfectly complimentary and it does add up to the information I have got."  
"Perfect," Roman smiled, clasping his hands behind his back. "Now, we just need to see what to do with Patton. I am certain he has told us everything he knows. We could get rid of him, or use him as leverage."  
"We could do both," Logan commented, crossing his arms in front of his chest, "if there really is no use for him anymore, there's no need to keep him around, but we could use him to get more information out of Virgil, too. Surely, that will work."  
"Of course!" Roman nodded vigorously. "But we should wait a bit, shouldn't we? He's had to endure a lot lately, and we do not want his anxiety to interfere with our plans."  
"Precisely," Logan agreed as he placed the papers back on the desk. "I say we wait just a few days so he can... process everything that happened."  
"Obviously," Roman said, "now, have you heard anything during the meetings? Anything useful?"  
"Actually, I have," Logan said, reaching for a small notebook he carried with him. He opened the leather-bound bundle and started leafing through it, trying to find the correct pages. "I heard a rumour that the fourth faction have been able to conquer a number of weapons, so it is a priority for us to take them out as soon as possible, before they become too much of a threat. And the sixth faction wants to work together with the second, seventh, fourteenth, fifteenth and eighteenth to make plan for a riot or a strike of some sorts, but there aren't many specifics on that yet. I suggest we let them work out the plans and arrest them when they execute the riot. Furthermore, I have discussed with the other informants that we should keep a closer eye on the markets, and the weapon trade. We also think that we should conduct a small number of busts soon, but keep a lower profile after the riot, to avoid possible suspicions. I will make sure that the rebels will suspect a number of others and if we are in luck, we might ban them from the meetings. If that happens, we should especially keep a low profile, to give the rebels the feeling of safety and make them think the spies have been banned. Maybe that will allow them to disclose more of their plans."  
"This is why you are my right-hand man, Logan," Roman smiled at the other man. "You truly are a genius."  
   
Virgil sat in his cell, head resting on his knees and his arms wrapped around his legs. His lips were chapped and dry, his head was pounding with a headache that had been tormenting him for what felt like centuries. His stomach hurt with every movement he made and his heart raced like it never had before. At first, Virgil thought it was the anxiety that made his heart beat this fast, but his pulse never seemed to slow down. Even though all he could see was darkness, Virgil felt his head spinning around. His arms were shaking all the time and Virgil felt worse than he ever had. He hadn't drunk anything since the last time he saw Roman and it had been even longer since he had eaten anything. He desperately needed to drink something, Virgil thought. He wouldn't survive much longer like this. His mouth was dry and it felt like his entire body was drained of any liquid. That definitely wasn't any good. But then again, he had never experienced any good as long as he had been here, in this cell. Nothing was good.  
Not anymore. 

The boy was pulled away from his suffering by the door opening. Roman entered the room with a bulky man following him. It was never a good sign when Roman entered with another man.  
On a second thought, it was never good when Roman entered on his own either. 

This man dragged a chair behind him. Or at least, something that looked like a chair. However, the backrest had an odd shape. It rose up like any ordinary chair, but at the very top bent at a slight backwards angle, allowing one to rest their head if need-be. But something told Virgil that the chair wasn't meant for relaxing.  
The king placed the candle on the table again and turned to Virgil with the sweetest smile he could muster.  
"Hey, Virgil," Roman smiled sweetly, "long time no see, huh? Did you miss me? Because I know I missed you."  
Virgil didn't respond, but he only closed his eyes, in an attempt to shut the monarch out. If only it worked. His life would be so much easier if that technique _worked_. 

"Not in the mood for talking, today, are you?" Roman asked as he slowly approached Virgil. The anxious boy pulled his legs closer to his body in response to the king's question; a futile attempt to protect himself from the torment he knew would follow soon enough. Roman chuckled and crouched in front of the cowering boy. He placed his hand under Virgil's chin and pushed his head up, forcing him to look at the royal. It wasn't a particularly harsh touch, but it still made Virgil flinch and squeeze his eyes shut even tighter, if that was even possible.  
"Verge, kiddo, you know I want you to look at me when I'm talking to you," the king said with a voice that anyone else would have marked as sincere and kind. But Virgil heard the cold undertone. He knew he could do nothing to protect himself and slowly opened his eyes. Even that simple task took a lot of effort. When Virgil's eyes met Roman's, he saw a smirk appear on the royal's face that immediately made the boy regret his decision. If only he could fade through the walls, if only he could become one with the shadows around him.  
"Thank you," Roman smiled as he got up again. He took Virgil's arm and pulled him up. The sudden movement made Virgil stumble and he would have fallen over if Roman hadn't gripped his arm that tightly. But the king didn't seemed to care about this as he led Virgil to the chair on the other side of the room. Virgil barely protested as his arms and legs were tied to the chair. He didn't have the energy to do so. Roman stood in front of Virgil and placed one hand against one of his cheeks.  
"Sweet Heavens, Verge, _you're burning_ ," the king stated with fake concern as he pulled his hand away from the exhausted boy, "that must be the dehydration, isn't it? Well, don't worry! We can fix that for you. But I... don't think you would want to tell me what you discussed with your rebel friends before that, do you?"  
"Why would I?" Virgil asked weakly, his voice hoarse and broken.  
"That's what I thought." Roman walked around the chair and gently placed his hands on Virgil's head, running his hands through the boy's brown hair, as if he were trying to comfort him. "Don't be scared, we need to do this. It is your choice. You did this to yourself."  
Virgil tried to move his head as Roman pulled it back until he was resting against the wooden board. One hand was meant to keep Virgil's head in place as the other grabbed the cloth the bulky man reached out to him. Roman quickly placed it on Virgil's face, his hands quickly tied a knot behind the wooden board, successfully impeding any option of resistance.  
When he was certain the knots were tight enough, Roman walked to the door and opened it. He smiled as he saw a number men standing there with a number of carafes filled to the brim with water. They slowly entered the room too as Roman took the first carafe in his hands. He slowly made his way back to Virgil and raised the glass, slowly tilting it until the clear liquid spilled out, onto the cloth covering the boy's face. 

He was going to die. He was going to suffocate. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't get any oxygen. He was going to die. Water poured onto the cloth and soon, the fabric was soaking wet. Water entered Virgil's mouth and the cloth seemed to stick to his face. Any time he attempted to breathe, the fabric would cling to his skin and the only thing that Virgil managed to suck in, was water. He couldn't get any oxygen. He was going to die like this.  
But then... it stopped. For a few moments, the water had stopped pouring down and for a few moments, Virgil could breathe again. But he had only taken a few breaths, when it started again. It all started over again. 

And this went on for a while. Sometimes, Roman would stop for a few moments, just to ask Virgil if he had changed his mind. And despite his lack of oxygen, his panic and anxiety, Virgil would softly deny this. Then it started again.  
Every time, Virgil became more panicked. Every time, it became harder to breathe, harder to recover from the lack of oxygen he had to endure.  
And after a while, when he got a break to breathe, a chance to recover, Virgil found that he had trouble taking in oxygen. His breathing didn't even out again. And with every passing second, his anxiety grew worse. But he never gave in. Even when he thought he would pass out, when he thought he was going to die, when he thought about giving in, he didn't. It lasted until he actually started hyperventilating, trying to take in the oxygen he so desperately needed. When all he could think about was the fact that he was going to die, he was going to suffocate.  
It was then that Roman saw it was useless. All it did, was send Virgil into yet another panic attack. It wouldn't make him talk. At first, the king had believed that this would help his cause. He thought that the boy's panicked state would cause him to give in more easily, but it achieved the exact opposite. So, Roman gestured for everyone to get out as he undid the knots that bound Virgil to the wooden board. The boy was still hyperventilating as the cloth was removed from his face, his eyes shut tight. He didn't dare move as Roman untied the ropes that had tied him to the chair.  
"I will be easy on you now, Virgil," Roman declared as he gestured for the last man in the room to leave, "so you're lucky today."  
Virgil didn't move as the royal stepped back. He was afraid that something else was going to happen to him, something even worse. But moments passed and nothing happened. Virgil heard nothing, no footsteps, no objects being dragged around the floor, not even a single word was uttered and Virgil believed - he hoped - he was alone. And so he dared to open his eyes, but he immediately regretted it as he noticed the king was still in his cell, staring at him impatiently, as he waited for the boy to finally respond.  
"You sure took your time, Verge," he muttered coldly. Roman held one carafe up and placed it on the table next to the candlestick. "I'll leave this here for you. We don't want you to die from dehydration, do we? If you can pick it up, of course." Virgil didn't look at the king as he turned on his heel to leave the cell. His breathing was still irregular and shallow, but he had managed to calm down just a bit. It wasn't a lot; it was hardly anything, even, but it was _something_. 

The door slammed shut with a loud bang that made Virgil flinch as he was still sat in the chair, now covered in the eternal darkness of his cell.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: MAJOR warning for torture, gore, slightly explicit image of torture, minor swearing (one time, I think), major character death, anxiety, panic attack, angst, heartbreak

In the darkness of his cell, Patton had the option to think. His thoughts mostly wandered to Virgil. How long had he been here? _Why_ was he there? Someone must have told his name to Roman. Which brought Patton to the questions: who else had been captured? What had they told? What was left of the rebellion? Patton had no idea what was happening outside. The world could be on fire and he wouldn’t notice any of it.   
Then, once again, his mind wandered to his friend. He wondered, again, how long Virgil had been there. To what kinds of torment he had been subjected in the time he had been here and whether he had cracked already.   
At that moment, Patton felt a pang of guilt as he remembered what he had forced Virgil to go through. If only he had promised Roman to tell him about the rebellion sooner, then Virgil wouldn’t have to suffer like that. He would still have a hand. Oh Heavens, Virgil shouldn’t have to go through all of that. He was barely eighteen - he was just a kid. Patton should have never allowed Virgil to join the rebellion. But he couldn’t say no to the boy’s enthusiasm. And he _was_ an adult. Hardly, but still an adult. If only Patton had forbidden Virgil to join. He would still be free, he would still be okay. It was all his fault. It was his fault Virgil was here. He had caused all of this.

Patton’s pondering was abruptly interrupted when the door was roughly opened and the king stepped inside.   
Virgil sat in the dark, his head resting against his knees and his arms wrapped around his head. He had tried so hard to be strong. To be tough and to be brave. And he had succeeded. Until he saw Patton. He had thought Patton was dead when he disappeared. He thought he’d never see him again. But there he was! Apparently, the man that had taken care of him for most of his live, was still alive. Virgil’s heart broke when he saw Patton. He had to live in this hell for months, so much longer than Virgil had. How Patton had managed, he didn’t know.   
But what hurt him more, was that Roman had used _him_ to hurt Patton. To make him confess the secrets he knew about their rebellion. Virgil knew Patton cared about him andâ€¦ he didn’t deserve to witness what he had seen. Patton had never done anything wrong to anyone; he didn’t deserve to suffer like this. And then… what happened later- Virgil couldn’t even think about it without feeling his throat tighten and the air leave his body. He couldn’t think about it without panicking.  
And now, Virgil couldn’t get Patton’s hurt expression out of his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about the tears that had formed in his friend’s eyes as he was forced to watch how Roman tortured Virgil. He still heard Patton’s screams when Virgil was forced away from him. Patton didn’t deserve this. He’d done nothing wrong. _He_ hadn’t.

He wanted to get out of there. He couldn’t stay here any longer. If only he still had his hands. He could have possibly tied his shirt into a noose and tied it around his neck. He could empty the carafe and break it. He could use the shards to cut his wrist or throat. But even that was taken from him. Of course, Roman would have never left the _glass_ carafe there if Virgil had his hands. No, the king did everything he could to prevent his prisoners from killing themselves. Even the choice whether he lived or died had been stolen from him. He had nothing left. He was nothing. 

Time passed and Virgil sat there, in the darkness. Sometimes, he’d get up, find his way to the table where he knew the carafe stood, and managed to take a few sips of the water it contained. And he waited. He waited for someone to enter. But time passed and nothing happened. He wasn’t even given more water. He was alone in the darkness. Alone with his thoughts. The thoughts that seemed to drown him in fear, the thoughts that suffocated him with worry and guilt. Alone with his pain. He never knew if he was asleep or awake. He didn’t know how much time had passed. He didn’t know anything. However, Virgil’s pondering was abruptly interrupted when the door was roughly opened and the king stepped inside. And he was followed by-  
“Pat,” Virgil breathed as the man stumbled into the dark room.  
“Hey there Virgil!” Roman smiled as two other men trailed behind him. “Long time no see!”  
Virgil didn’t look at the king. His eyes only focussed on Patton, who had been forced to the ground and lifted his head to meet Virgil’s gaze. He attempted to smile, trying to comfort Virgil and tell him it would be okay. It wouldn’t be okay, he knew that. They both did. But the gesture was a reassurance. If only they would be free. 

Before he knew what was going on, Virgil could feel someone grab his arms and as he snapped out of his thoughts, he could see Patton being dragged to one of the chairs in the back - the chair Virgil had been tied to last time was still there. Luckily, they didn’t use that one. If you could speak of luck in a situation like this.   
And now the roles had been reversed; now it was Virgil struggling as he was held back, while Patton was bound to the chair in the corner of the room.   
“Now, I’m sure you know the rules, don’t you, Verge?” Roman asked, standing in front of the young boy, who looked up at the king with something that almost resembled defiance. Roman smiled and turned his back.   
“I have been told that you, too, are hiding information from me,” he spoke matter-of-factly. “Information that some would call important. And I’d like to hear about that information.”  
“Yeah, well, I have some wishes too,” Virgil muttered under his breath, hoping the king hadn’t heard his comment.   
“Do you want me to pretend I didn’t hear that, Virgil?” Roman asked coldly. He didn’t turn around, but Virgil could see from the way his shoulders rose and the way his back straightened that the king was more than just a little annoyed. Much more. “Or do you _want_ me to react to that?”   
Virgil looked down as he felt the air leave his body. He knew he shouldn’t have said that, but he couldn’t stop the words from leaving his mouth.   
“Well?” Roman sounded impatient. Virgil quickly looked up and noticed that the king hadn’t moved an inch in the few moments Virgil had taken to get lost in his mind.   
‘It’s nothing,“ Virgil muttered defeatedly, "I… I’m sorry.”   
“Good,” Roman said, making his way towards Patton. He slowly got out his dagger - he loved that thing, apparently. His finger softly brushed against the edge of the weapon. The king stopped next to the chair Patton was in and turned back so he was facing the younger boy again. The dagger travelled across Patton’s throat, though Roman didn’t put enough pressure on it to leave a mark.  
“Do you want to tell me what you’re hiding now?” Roman noticed Virgil’s brown eyes travelled to Patton and he saw the pain and apologies in those orbs. He tried to act brave and confident, but his eyes gave away his true emotions. Virgil looked back at the king and opened his mouth, as he was interrupted by the man next to Roman.   
“He doesn’t! There’s nothing you need to know!”  
“Patton,” Virgil started, his eyes widening.   
“No, Verge. There’s nothing you should tell him!” Patton’s voice sounded weirdly confident as he spoke. Virgil opened his mouth to protest, but one look at Patton shut him up. He couldn’t protest.   
“There’s… nothing,” the boy said, looking at his friend once more with pain in his eyes. Roman smirked as he nodded. The look on the king’s face was enough to make Virgil regret his words and he wanted desperately to revoke them. But before he could open his mouth, Roman had already forced his dagger into Patton’s leg, just above the knee. Patton closed his eyes and struggled against the ropes tying him to the chair. Virgil froze as he saw the pain on his friend’s face and all he wanted was to make it stop. He wanted Patton to stop suffering, even if it meant taking his place. Even if it meant he had to endure everything Patton would have to go through. Even if it was ten times worse. He wanted to tell Roman everything he knew. The few names he remembered, the vague plans they had. Anything to save Patton. But no words could leave his mouth. It was as if his throat was being squeezed shut and no sound could leave his mouth. He panicked.   
And so, when Roman asked him if he was willing to confess, everything inside of him screamed at him to say yes. To nod his head and to comply. But Virgil felt him shaking his head. Something inside was stronger than the voices that yelled at him to spare his best - his _only_ \- friend. And Roman just grinned. 

He grinned as his hand gripped the dagger tighter and slowly moved it up, ripping through Patton's skin and creating a long, deep wound. Blood spilled out of the wound and coloured Patton's trousers with a deep red.   
He grinned as he saw his victim hold on to the armrests so tightly his hands turned white at the knuckles. As he noticed how the man closed his eyes, like it would make him forget about the pain as his skin was slowly ripped apart. As he heard the boy on the other side of the room, futilely trying to break free.   
He grinned as he moved to the other side of Patton. As he stabbed the dagger into Patton's other leg and, just like before, dragged it up, slowly tearing his skin apart, inflicting agonizing pain on the man. He just grinned. 

When the dagger had reached Patton's thigh, Roman stopped and finally pulled his weapon away from the man, turning to Virgil again.   
"Have you changed your mind?" he asked, lowering the dagger in his hand. "Or," - Roman halted as he looked down at Patton, another plan quickly forming. The royal smiled and moved his dagger upwards, stopping in front of his victim's abdomen - "we could change things up a bit, if you'd prefer."  
Virgil's eyes widened and he shook his head before fighting his capturer once more. His breathing sped up, became faster and faster and he felt like he was suffocating. But he _had_ to try it. He _had_ to get to Patton.  
"Just... do it," Patton said softly, his voice breaking. Virgil heard these three words and immediately ceased his struggling.   
"Pat," he said with difficulty.   
"You did the same," Patton reasoned, "why shouldn't I?"  
"Well, Virgil, what do you say?" The king asked. Virgil looked at Patton, who shook his head, trying to convince him not to spill their secrets. But as he tried to decide what was best, Roman had already decided it had taken him too long and he drove the dagger into Patton's stomach.   
A sound that resembled a scream left Virgil's mouth as he tried his best to once again to free himself from the man's grip.   
"N-no," he stuttered in between rapid breaths, "please. I-I'll tell y-you e-every-everything!"  
His weak and panicked voice was almost overshadowed by his own quick breathing. Roman looked up at Virgil with a dangerous eagerness in his eyes.   
" _Everything_?" Virgil nodded, looking at the king with pleading eyes. He hated himself for this, but he might still be able to rescue his friend. Roman narrowed his eyes and nodded. For one second, Virgil felt relief washing over him as the royal turned back to Patton. His hand clutched the hilt of the dagger and pulled it back. But then, in one swift movement, he raised the weapon and slit Patton's throat. The sharp blade left a bright red trail that immediately travelled down to the man's shirt and left red stains everywhere. A number of crimson drops stained Roman's white shirt.   
Patton closed his eyes in pain and held on to the armrests as tight as he could, trying to block out the pain and the realisation that he was going to die. All life left his body. He could not move. He could only wait. 

As soon as Virgil saw the dagger move up, he started resisting more heavily than ever before. Even though he barely had any energy left, he used every single bit trying to escape from the man's grasp. He gathered every bit of courage he had to kick the man holding him back. In the shin, in the groin, any place that hurt. He didn’t care that he probably looked like an idiot. He didn’t care that he’d regret this, he just wanted to get to Patton.   
Eventually, Virgil managed to tear himself away from the guard and clumsily made his way to Patton, whose chin rested on his breast, his breathing barely noticeable.  
“No,” was all Virgil could whisper softly as he stepped next to Patton, expecting to be ripped away from him again any moment. “No, Pat, p-please. No.” Virgil looked at Patton’s face, unable to look at the bloodied mess below it. Patton slowly opened his eyes and smiled at Virgil. A tired, broken smile.   
“Pat, please. I l-love you,” Virgil told him as he saw his friend’s body go limp. “No. No. Fuck. No.” Virgil sobbed softly. Then, a hand forcefully pulled him away from the chair. He was pushed against the wall and a bloodstained dagger was pressed against his throat. The dagger that slit Patton’s throat just a minute ago. Virgil closed his eyes and turned his head away from the king in front of him. His shoulders were still shaking and his breathing was anything but steady.  
"Now, you were going to tell me something, weren't you, Virgil?" Roman asked, his face uncomfortably close to Virgil as the dagger was pushed against the boy's skin. The dagger that had slit a throat not long ago. The dagger that could cut _his_ throat if the king wanted it to. Virgil felt the sharp edge against his skin and he felt his chest tightening. He felt his heart speeding up and pounding against his rib cage, trying to break the ribs just to get out. He couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't. And so he shook his head. If he was lucky, this action would be the death of him.   
"Excuse me," Roman hissed through gritted teeth, as he pressed the dagger further into Virgil's throat, summoning a thin line of red. "I don't think you heard me, kid. You had something to tell me."  
Virgil shook his head again. He wanted to reach up, to pull his hair out of his scalp, to cover his face and to protect himself from the king in front of him. But he could do neither of those things. He couldn't do anything anymore. Everything had been taken away from him. 

Roman removed the dagger from Virgil's throat and embedded it in his shoulder. He grabbed Virgil's hair in his hand and turned the boy's face towards him. His eyes were still closed.   
"Virgil, look at me," the king said. His voice sounded calm, but the dangerous undertone was still evident. Virgil didn't want to obey the king. Somehow, his eyes were always _terrifying_. They were always cold and there was always a sense of danger hidden in those orbs. But Virgil forced himself to open his eyes and his teary eyes met the king's furious ones.  
"Are you going to tell me what you know?" Virgil looked down as he shook his head. He couldn't. He couldn't form any coherent sentences. Even if he _wanted_ to tell it all to Roman, he wasn't able to. Roman pushed the dagger further into Virgil's skin, until the tip met the stones of the wall behind him. Virgil barely flinched.   
"Very well," Roman said, a hint of frustration in his voice, "I'll let you grieve. But I will be back." He released Virgil's hair and picked up the candlestick. He nodded at the two men in the room and they followed him away from the cell. 

When Virgil was alone in that eternal darkness, he finally broke down. His sobs mixed with his shaky breaths and he tried to calm down, but the vivid image of Patton and the knowledge that his body was still with him in this room made it practically impossible. Virgil sank to the floor and his arms wrapped around his knees. However, when he moved his arms, he felt the stinging of the dagger in his left shoulder as it dug itself further into his skin. Great. Virgil pressed his forehead against his knees, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. He focussed on every method he knew to calm himself down. Every trick he knew to steady his breathing. But even then, it took him ages to get his breathing under control. When he had calmed himself down as much as he could, Virgil attempted to pull the dagger out of his shoulder, but having lost his hands, he needed both arms. However, reaching up with his left arm hurt him too much, as it moved the weapon, slowly ripping open his shoulder even more. And he could barely even reach the hilt with his left arm. It was not enough to grip onto it. Soon, he gave up his attempts and dropped his arms. He didn't know how long he sat there in complete darkness. He didn't know if he was awake or asleep. If his eyes were opened or closed. It seemed like years. An eternity in which he was left alone with nothing but his anxious thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

He wanted to get out of there. Dead or alive, it didn’t matter. He just wanted to get out. Right now, death seemed like the best option. That meant he would be free from this hell and he would never have to think about it ever again. He could see his parents again. He could see Patton again. He could live freely again. Oh, how he longed for that.   
It must have been a few days since Roman left him alone. Alone with his best friend’s corpse and a dagger in his shoulder. The body had filled the room with the stench of rotten meat – luckily enough, Virgil got used to the smell after a while and it didn’t seem to bother him as much anymore. However, the dagger was a constant nuisance; it hurt with every single move the male made, but no matter what he tried, he could never remove it. 

And so he sat there. In the darkness. Waiting for someone, _anyone_ , to come in again. It seemed to be another eternity before the door was opened again. And as soon as it happened, as soon as the king entered the small cell again, Virgil wished to be alone. It seemed to be an eternal cycle; when he was alone, Virgil wanted someone else to be there to keep him company. But when company did arrive, all he wanted was to be left alone again. But that would never happen. 

“Patton is still here?” Roman asked as soon as he stepped inside the cell, a candlestick in his hand. “You really can’t let go, can you, Verge?”   
The king placed the candlestick on the table again and turned to Virgil. As usual, the boy had pressed his back against the wall as he tried to stay away from the monarch. He didn’t look up when Roman entered, he hardly even acknowledged his presence and barely reacted to his words. That was odd, to say the least. 

But, as Roman set the candlestick down on the table, he noticed the light shining on the hilt sticking out of Virgil’s shoulder and he smirked. As he strode forwards, he spoke:  
“There’s my dagger! I thought I’d lost it!”  
Of course, he knew very well where he had left his dagger, but he had to get Virgil’s attention somehow, right? And it seemed his tactic had worked; the kid looked up in shock to meet the king’s eyes. It was as if he was awoken from some sort of trance and he had only now realised the situation he was in.   
“You don’t mind if I take it back, do you?” Roman asked as he crouched in front of the anxious kid, his hand gripping onto the hilt of the dagger. Virgil didn’t respond. With a shrug, Roman slowly ripped the dagger out of the wound. The kid bit his lip so hard that he could taste his own blood. After all the time the dagger had been embedded in his shoulder, the blood had dried and the wound was preparing to heal itself already. But now Roman ripped the dagger away from that, and it _hurt_. 

When the monarch had pulled the weapon free from Virgil’s skin, he studied its blade, only to find it stained with blood – surprisingly. He reached forwards to grab the boy’s arm and cleaned the dagger with the fabric of his clothes. A king has to clean his weapons somehow, right? 

“Now that we’ve got that cleaned up,” Roman started as he got up, looking at his dagger to make sure his face was reflecting in its shiny blade. “Are you ready to talk?” Virgil shielded his face with his arms as he looked down at the floor. His throat tightened and he couldn’t breathe. His arms started shaking more vehemently as he heard the king’s voice. And even if he wanted to talk, he felt like he wouldn’t be able to. His throat was clenched shut by mere anxiety.   
“Aren’t you talking, kid?” the king growled as he wrapped a hand around Virgil’s throat, pulling him to his feet. “Because I’m pretty sure you said you would tell me _everything_.” The anxious male looked at the royal for a few moments before he averted his eyes, his entire body trembling in fear. He shook his head as he opened his mouth, desperately trying to form words. Even one word. But he couldn't. Even a simple “no” was too much for him; this was so much worse than any usual panic attack. He couldn't talk. At all.

Roman shoved the dagger back in its sheath and used his free hand to grab Virgil's jaw and turn his face towards his own. Virgil tried to break free from the king’s grip, even if he knew it was a futile attempt. He could never escape. But he could try.   
“Virgil, look at me,” Roman ordered coldly. This time, he wasn’t even trying to put up a collected façade. It was useless now. He needed the information and he needed it now. However, the boy did not move a muscle and the king dug his nails in his pale skin. “Look. At. Me.”  
Finally, Virgil slowly opened his eyes and he forced himself too look into the king’s eyes. Roman saw that the kid’s eyes were filled with panic and anxiety. So much more than usually. But the king didn’t care about that. As long as the boy could tell him what he needed to know, he didn’t care.

“Are you going to talk, or do I need to _make_ you talk?” Roman got more and more frustrated every second. He had given Virgil all the time in the world to recover from the shock of seeing one of the most important people in his life die right before his eyes and yet, he still wasn’t talking to him. When the boy didn’t respond, Roman growled put more pressure on his throat, cutting off Virgil’s air supply. He could see the panic and fear sparking in Virgil’s brown eyes and he smirked. The boy instinctively lifted his arms, wanting to claw at the king’s hand, to pull it away from him. But he couldn’t. Roman noticed this and he grinned at Virgil. Normally, he would have made a remark, he would have feigned compassion or worry. But none of that mattered now. Virgil had said he would surrender all information he possessed to the king. He just needed to pry it out of him.

“Please…” Virgil managed to get out. His voice sounded strained and weak. He opened his mouth again, but it cost too much effort to produce any more words.   
“Please what, Virgil?” Roman questioned with a grin. The kid was scared, no, _terrified_. It was just what he wanted but… he wasn’t talking.   
No matter what he tried. No matter what weapon he pulled on Virgil, or what he threatened him with. No matter what wounds he inflicted on him, the boy would not utter any words. He was too scared.

On the one hand, there was something so satisfying, so addicting about seeing someone trembling before you. About knowing they were so afraid of you that they could not talk.  
But on the other hand, Roman saw he had pushed his luck. He had tried too much to get Virgil to talk and had pushed the younger male too far past his breaking point in the process. His anxiety was in control of him now and it impeded his speech. The king knew that Virgil would be useless now. He wouldn’t be able to get the kid to talk now. It was a shame, really. Surely, he must have had some useful information to share. And now, that information would be lost. Such a shame. 

Roman slowly stepped closer to Virgil, who had tried to protect himself by crawling back to the furthest corner of the room. He glanced at the door every now and again, as if he was trying to plan an escape. But every time he saw a window and hope filled his mind, he remembered one crucial thing: he could not grip the doorknob. He could not get out, even if he tried. He was trapped in that little cell, but somehow, he sensed that it would not be for long. He noticed the small changes in Roman’s demeanour. He was more frustrated, less patient. From the moment the king entered the room, Virgil knew he was either going to give him the information or die. And he chose the latter. 

And as Roman stepped closer, his hand slowly reached for the sword he carried with him. He tried to lock eyes with Virgil, who desperately wanted to look away, but whose eyes were drawn to the weapon in the king’s hand every time.   
Roman took one more step. Virgil tried to become one with the cold walls behind him, but it didn’t work. He was still there.   
Roman raised his sword and placed it underneath Virgil’s chin. He softly forced the boy to look up and their eyes met for one moment. Roman saw the fear, the panic; he could see Virgil knew what was coming. With his signature smirk gracing his features, the king lowered the sword.  
“I must say I… enjoyed this time together, Virgil,” the monarch spoke. His fake sincerity and sadness returned in his voice. “But all good things must come to an end eventually.”  
He raised his sword and Virgil closed his eyes, bracing himself for the impact of the weapon. But he didn’t try to fight it. He didn’t want to live anyways, so why try to rescue himself?   
His heart started beating faster, as if it was trying to warn Virgil for the upcoming danger, as if it was trying to rescue him, but the kid did not listen. He shut his eyes tight and waited for his world to end. 

And with one swift blow to the neck, it ended. Just like that, his world had stopped.


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mentions of death, torture, not really a happy ending

"So, did he talk?" Logan asked as soon as he saw the king approaching, his white shirt covered in red stains.  
"No. I pushed my luck with Patton," Roman answered as he passed Logan, walking to his chambers. "His anxiety got too bad. I couldn't get a single word out of his mouth."  
"So he's dead?"  
"As dead as can be," the king said. He picked up a quill from the desk and scribbled a few words on a paper.  
"Okay... how many rebels do we have still?" Logan inquired, trying to get some information out of the royal, in an attempt to figure out a new plan.  
"Do you want to know the real numbers, or just how many useful ones there are?" The king finished writing and put his quill down on his desk.  
"I assume... the latter..."  
"None," Roman said quickly, "they're all too scared to say a thing, or they don't know anything. They are all practically useless. We need new busts. You have information about the meetings, don't you?"  
"Naturally," Logan nodded as Roman finally folded the paper and silently handed it to his confidant, who immediately took his and stored it in one of his pockets.  
"Good, then you're in charge of the Guard for now. You know what to do."

In the two weeks that followed, Logan managed to organise ten busts. They captured nearly one hundred rebels - more than they ever had before. Roman had never been this busy, but he wasn’t complaining about this. No, he _loved_ it. And the best part about it?  
He had never gotten this much good information this quickly. 

The large number of rebels he had captured, allowed him to... _experiment_ with his torture methods. And boy, did those experiments work out well. The rebels he had captured appeared to be much weaker than the ones that had been in those cells before them. Within two months, all of them were dead. 

In those months, Roman had sent out more informants to spy on the rebellion. He had issued more laws to make the rebels' lives more difficult. No one was allowed to go outside after nine. No one could leave their towns without permission. All houses were thoroughly searched for any illegal possessions. Weapons could no longer be acquired without the king hearing about it. Roman was almost tempted to forbid people from going outside altogether - except when going to their work or the market - but he knew he could not do that. Not yet. First, he would have to get to the root of the rebellion and destroy it. When that was done, he could maybe go through with that law. But first, he would have to eliminate all thoughts of rebellion, even if it meant killing half of his citizens. 

And he did. Months passed and Roman did whatever he could do to get rid of the rebellion. But it didn't matter. It didn't matter how many factions he wiped out or how many laws he issued. It didn't matter how often he appeared in public, blackmailing and threatening half his population, or how often he left the maimed bodies of rebels on the doorsteps of their loved ones. New factions rose up.  
It was like exterminating a weed: they keep coming back, no matter what you do.  
To get rid of a weed, it won't suffice to pull it out of the earth. You need to make sure that you get rid of every single root. Only then can you fully exterminate it. This meant that Roman would have to get to the core of the rebellion. He just had to find out _where_ the core was located. 

It astounded the king how the rebels managed to meet up without breaking the law. His informants told him everything they picked up and Roman created new laws to hinder the revolutionaries. But still, it would not work. The rebels found loopholes, new ways of communication. The revolution continued.  
But then, Logan came up with a plan. A plan that, if executed correctly, could put an end to the revolution at once.  
Roman made a number of adjustments to his dungeons as Logan met with the Guards on a frequent basis. After four weeks, they were ready for the big plan.

"Are you certain this will work, Logan?" Roman asked, nervously pacing through the throne room. "Because if this fails, we are done. All our work will have been for _nothing_."  
"Do not worry," Logan reassured the monarch, "I am positive this will work." Roman nodded, but he didn't seem convinced. He continued his pacing and waited. Logan attempted to talk to the king, but he would not respond. Until he heard the front gates being opened, followed by loud voices yelling orders and insults. Roman relaxed ever so slightly as the clamour moved in the direction of the dungeons.  
"That's the first batch," the king announced.  
"Which means the next will be here in less than an hour," his informant said. Looking down at the scheme he had written out in his notebook.  
"Good," Roman nodded. "how long until the last ones will arrive?"  
"That depends," Logan answered, scanning the pages, "it will be three hours at least, I think."  
"Okay," the king said, continuing his pacing. "Then we wait."

And they did. It took the Royal Guard five hours, but the plan succeeded. Every single member of the revolution had been captured. Logan had ordered the Guard to travel through the land and crash the rebel' meetings in order to arrest the defectors. When that was done, the Guard returned to the palace to lock the revolutionaries in the dungeons. Hundreds of rebels were locked in cells that were hardly big enough to contain all of them.  
Every once in a while, one of the guards would come in to take one or two people away. They would be led to another cell across the hall, where the king would be waiting for them.  
Sometimes, those people would return.  
Most of the time, they wouldn't. 

This continued for months. Roman finally issued a law that forbade people to meet outside of their houses. Dozens of spies were present in every town, no matter how small. No one knew who they could trust. No one dared to talk to anyone about the king or the state of their society. Everyone could be a spy and no one was to be trusted. 

The rebellion did not rise up again. The roots had been pulled out of the ground. The weed was exterminated.  
Three months after his big plan, all rebels were dead. Roman had people document what they found in the dungeons. He made them describe every single body in excruciating detail. Every tool they could find was mentioned and its purpose explained. That would scare off anyone with rebellious tendencies, the monarch hoped. 

After more than four years, the rebellion had been obliterated. No one dared to rise up again. The rebellion was gone. 

_Forever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the final chapter of my angst fest. Even though this was the most horrible thing I’ve ever written (story-wise), this fic has a special place in my heart. I love all the feedback I’ve gotten from you all and I hope you enjoyed this fic (:


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